Luminous sunlight spilled onto the lush grass outside the cottage engulfed in honeysuckles and roses, catching the fresh dew droplets and displaying a myriad of iridescent colors that shimmered in the cool morning air. The comfortable silence was broken by a holler and a 'ding-dong' at the doorstep of the cottage, and then came the sound of glass bottles clinking on the stone pavement. A few curt footsteps descended the elevated steps, and the morning calmness had returned to its peaceful rendition.

Until a yell occurred when a bottle crashed and spilled its contents with an almighty flourish.

The yell had sounded from a girl with shocking violet hair that contrasted deeply with the green grass growing in her garden. Then a swearing that any grown person would be appalled at escaped her pouty lips as she bent down to try to clean up the milky mess on the doorstep. Another girl appeared at the door, with pale lilac locks cascading down her back and softening hazel eyes. She spoke kindly to the younger one before advising her to leave the mess to her. The girl nodded before vanishing back into the cottage.

At the cherry-wood dining table sat a man with a long beard and a wizened face. His kind eyes looked around the table laden with freshly-baked baguettes and homemade jam, and let out a contented sigh. As his daughter stormed through the kitchen, muttering about the milkman's great stupidity to place his bottles too close to the door, he calmly reached for some bread and deftly spread strawberry jam onto it.

The girl with the lilac hair reentered the kitchen with a sopping wet cloth and broken glass in a dustpan. The old man's face brightened at her entrance. "Margaret," he beamed when his daughter smiled back. "A lovely day, isn't it? Might want to bottle some of that fresh air outside for a cloudy day."

The girl, or Margaret as she was called, blushed but remained firm. "Father, we both know that the real bookworm in this household is not me. I just so happen to love poetry and novels—but please, don't tease me. I can't stand it."

The old man chuckled. "Ah, maybe I have finally weaseled out of you a wish for a gift from the city that I'll be traveling to one of these days: a novel, or perhaps, a diary? Enough pages to spill your uneven thoughts unto."

"Firstly, please stop the teasing, Father, and secondly, all I really want is for you to come back safely, Father," Margaret replied modestly, then hesitated. "Though I really do require a new dress." Not so modest, after all.

"Our dear tomboy seamstress will fix that for you," the father motioned to the other purple-haired girl who had flopped down in her seat in a mood. "Veronica, what is it that you might want?"

"A new catapult," Veronica replied curtly, as if she'd planned the answer in her head all along. "The boys won't take me seriously if I don't bring back some game from the forests."

"Ah," grunted the unnerved father when he heard clumsy footsteps descend down the stairs. His face immediately brightened to its best. "And lastly, of course," and with that he rose from his seat at the table and walked out into the hall where he saw the person he was referring to, "What might little Elizabeth fancy?"

A face appeared as she stepped out from the shadows of the staircase, her face a big grin as she placed her hands into her father's waiting ones and hopped off the last steps. Swirling and twirling her way into the dining room, she exclaimed, "An adventure! Oh, Father, you do know that all I really want is a real, exciting adventure to go on!"

The old man knew where this was going. "For the last time, Elizabeth," and he let go of her hands and threw his own in the air dramatically. "You are not allowed to follow me on my trip to the city. You're supposed to stay here and help your sisters with the chores and family business." The look in his eyes was final.

The girl, Elizabeth, swung her silver strands back and forth in disapproval. "Father, I understand, but you go to the fair every year! Can't I go at least once?" You see, the youngest of Baltra Liones' daughters loved a good adventure into the woods, in a scorching desert; even under the sea. Baltra would shake his head at her antics and sigh and say the same things over and over again.

"This is the result of reading way too many books, Elizabeth," he'd muttered to her by the fire on a wintry day. "When will you learn that stories are just fairy tales—they're not real?" That was the first time she heard those words, when she was ten. Since then she'd been hearing those words repeated every time she turned a page.

But she couldn't really help it. Elizabeth would endure all the nagging and reprimands she got if it meant she could continue to read. Since she was a very small child, when her eyes landed a book, they'd light up with some unknown life that her sisters never knew she had; when they passed over every word they seemed to be filled with excitement and imagination. Elizabeth would then fly off to fantasy land: there she would fight vicious pirates, swim with mermaids, and fly with fairies.

Maybe the reason behind her specialty for reading that her sisters didn't have was that she was adopted. Maybe the reason was because she was just younger than the rest and could dream constantly of princes and dragons. But no matter what it was, no one could really take away the life of books from the silver-haired girl.

Now, as she stepped into the kitchen to wash up—the penalty for waking up the latest—Elizabeth couldn't help but yearn for a trip to the city. Her father always had some inventive new contraption that he thought could win him some prize money if it was good enough. Margaret always said to him that it was intriguing and innovative, but Elizabeth knew deep down that her eldest sister thought that inventions were silly, and that she would prefer to stick to traditional methods than new ones. Veronica, on the other hand, only liked inventions that were made for attacking or hunting, which her father never made since he was a harmless man. Only Elizabeth looked into it with interest. She would try to dive into a new story she herself would invent from her father's creation. She would then immerse herself into imagining how the thing would work and what she would use it for.

It was more of a pastime for her since her father rarely had time to stay in his workshop for at least two minutes during the day, except during mealtimes where he had his lunch brought over in a basket. The constant work of a village chief was, for him, never-ending. He could only ever carry out his secret passion in the night. While Elizabeth liked to joke that only his stomach had actually been for bread and other sorts of pastry, his heart never was. But whenever he tried to knead dough or even place a baguette in the toaster you could sense his keen mind already formulating a new idea that he was determined to try, whatever the odds. It was that similarity that he and his youngest possessed: the eagerness for new things.

It was also a curious thing on why he couldn't see good in that quality of his daughter when he himself used it to its best. Elizabeth never truly minded, because no matter what anyone said she would continue to read and read and read till the cows came home.

Or at least, until the bread in the oven turned black.

.

Father's workshop was located at the back of the cottage, a smallish shed with more flowers entwining around the architecture. There was a door in the front where her father would enter from to do his experiments, but the girls always used the side door to bring in food or check up on him. It was probably because the front door was so rickety and old that if his daughters were not delicate it could collapse in a second. Margaret and Elizabeth meant well, but Veronica was another case. Therefore, to make things easier, Baltra built a second entrance leading out to the woods for them to put to use.

Elizabeth was usually the one to go back and forth between houses. Margaret was always so busy, baking and tending to customers at the makeshift stall they'd set up outside the house for her to sell some of her goods for extra pocket money. And Veronica was either out shooting with the boys or locked away in her bedroom, also known to the Liones family as the needlework sanctuary, where the usually impatient and clumsy Veronica would work her magic on cloth and stitch rags and odd pieces into a fine dress that any village girl would swoon at. She had always attempted to teach Elizabeth how to sew and make patchwork quilts, but somehow the little silver-haired girl never had the knack for holding a needle without pricking herself dry.

Elizabeth, however, was constantly bored. She was not old enough to be trusted with important errands that Margaret was occasionally told to carry out, or to go hunting with the men for game in the woods. Even Veronica wasn't supposed to go, but being one of the chief's daughters certainly had its advantages. So she would busy herself with small chores, such as laying out the bread for display or helping the village blacksmith Raizer sharpen arrows for the boys' next hunting trip, but most of all she enjoyed heading to the library when she was left to her own devices. The attendant hardly stayed in there for long, so the only inhabitant most of the times was Elizabeth, accompanied with the gift of reading. She could stay there for hours until her sisters came to look for her, calling her in for dinner, or she would just reach for a book of the shelf and bring it back home with her. Sometimes, even during dinner times, Baltra would hear the sound of munching and the flutter of a page, and there he would begin his reprimands of Elizabeth's rudeness.

Today, in contrast, Elizabeth was more than excited. Though her good mood had been dampened by her father's final decision of the trip to the city she couldn't help but feel jumpy inside. Ever since the Liones family had found Elizabeth on their doorstep ten years ago they had been celebrating the anniversary of this new addition every year on the exact date they'd found her, June the 12th. Neither Elizabeth nor her adoptive family were sure of whether this was the day she was born, but everyone held in their hearts the fact that that did not matter, only that Elizabeth was a complete blessing to the household. Every year they reminded her of her importance, and for that she loved each and every one of them.

And that day was right around the corner. Tomorrow, a combined shower of adoration would rain down on her, but not as if it wasn't like that every day. It was more of a birthday, but every day Elizabeth could feel the love from her adoptive father and sisters. It was just that tomorrow she'd just feel it stronger than ever. For the past few days her sisters had busied themselves for preparing for her day, but it was a Liones family custom to always go about normally just before the day of the event itself. Father always said it helped to relax the mind and body, and the sisters took his word for it.

As Margaret carried on with her pastry-making and Veronica her catapult practice, Elizabeth decided to visit the townspeople. It was another one of her pastimes as she was never fully trusted with anything, as she was seemingly young and clumsy with her hands, slender though they were. As a daughter of a chieftain and perhaps a future heir to take after her father, she decided long ago to make a good impression for herself, although she was very sure that Margaret, then Veronica would inherit his title, and she was all but Baltra Liones' youngest adopted daughter, and since she was never blood-related to him she would never take up the title. But she still bore a heart of gold, maybe inherited from her kind-hearted parents that were unknown to her. So she set off, swinging her arms gaily and mock-whistling a tune her father played on his pipe.

She passed the blacksmith Raizer, busy at his work, making iron swords and arrow tips for the huntsmen of the village: namely all the young men and fathers bringing game back for the family. Father was always trying to change something for Liones, but just like Margaret, not many had the right resolve to learn of new things; rather, they'd stick to plain old tradition. Perhaps it was because it provided them assurance that they would not lose their jobs; Raizer for example, with his metal arrow heads and sword hilts, would gain no income if a machine took over his work for him. Baltra understood, but sometimes Elizabeth would see that mournful glint in his eye; he was sad that his people were not improving unlike the city folk.

Only Father was really allowed to venture into the inner parts of Britannia. As chieftain, he would also bring back necessary goods for the townspeople. Regulars had no money to afford the fare to the city; instead they made do with their paddy fields and orchards. Elizabeth glanced up to watch hardworking farmers harvest the grain for this year's harvest festival, which was only a few days from now. The Liones sisters could never wait for this festival: all the rice they could have! All the cakes that could be made from these fruitions! It was certainly a mouth-watering entitlement for them.

Elizabeth silently thanked them in her head, praying for the stars to fall on them with blessings. Then she continued her skip to her second home: the library. There was nothing more to distract her from reaching her destination, so when she reached the large oaken doors, she pushed them open with her scrawny arms, not a moment's hesitation within her.

Sunlight broke through a shaft in the well-worn roof that had endured months of rain and shine, and its weathered tiles had fallen to the carpeted floor and shattered into pieces. Elizabeth carefully avoided stepping on sharp debris and promised herself that she'd clean it up before the librarian arrived. For now, the books were all hers.

Shelves and shelves of endless ecstasy awaited her; her blue eyes marveled at the sights. Elizabeth always awed at how this place never ceased to amaze her to the fullest. So many books, so many windows to open to explore so many new worlds to immerse in an adventure… Elizabeth couldn't wait any longer. She rushed into the wonderland, sheer joy filling her young heart, which was never void of hope.

.

It was a good four hours before she suddenly remembered that she had to clean that mess up in the front hall. Stacking numerous books onto her hands, which amazingly held twice as much as usual, she made her way into the hall.

Staggering under the weight of the pages and her eyes adjusting to the new light that entered her vision, she trod on her own shoe and books were sent flying, and she was twirling to the ground very quickly. Instantly she shut her eyes, but she knew that just closing her eyes wouldn't rid the jagged debris on the floor that she was now about to crash onto.

She landed on the floor, expecting blood to pour out of her heart… only to feel sore pain after an anti-climactic thump.

The floor was clean. Rubbing her rump, she looked up to see the bespectacled librarian smirking down at her, her short chestnut bob waving on her shoulders. "Lucky for you I was here to clean it up," she mused. "Your family's waiting for you."

A bewildered Elizabeth mumbled a confused goodbye and went home, still shaken from the previous experience. Now empty handed, as she forgot to pick up the books in her hurry, she raced home to the safety of the Liones' household.

The first thing she got was an earful of scolds from Veronica, and some kind but stern words from both Margaret and Father, but that was all. As they ate Veronica's game that night for supper, the sisters chatted to their father about his upcoming journey to the city, though Elizabeth was still unsatisfied with his refusal of towing her along. However, not one word of tomorrow's events graced the family's lips. It was a tightly-kept secret between the two older ones and the eldest.

Later that night, as she snuggled up into her covers, Elizabeth contemplated what tomorrow would bring. More books? More fun? An adventure? The moon gazed down at her from her window and silver moonlight was strewn across her pillow, illuminating her sapphire-tinted eyes like gems in a sparkling cave of mysteries. She willed the moon to answer, but it gazed back at her and at last she gave up the staring game and fell asleep before it could provide a satisfying response.

Evidently she had no idea what a real adventure meant. But the moon, hung up by an invisible white hair in the blackness of the sky, envisioned, upon a pristine mirror made of glistening water, that she was about to find herself in for a wild ride. She just didn't know how wild.

...

A crazy three-thousand word chapter for this fabulous tale that will unfold before you this 2016! New Year's treat for you guys, and I'm very, very, very excited for this fic to turn out! Finally a full plot with crazy details aligned, cheesy romantic moments, and most of all, a wonderful ride for readers that they've never experienced before! Okay, I know I'm sounding crazy proud of myself right now, but I'm just too excited for words. Would be gladly pleased if you'd have the honor of sharing this pride and fascination with me! PM me if you need more insight on this fic, since I cannot say too much at the current moment. Happy New Year to all, and thanks for making 2015 unbelievable!

-Mint-chan.